


Trying

by venefica_aura (crankyoldman)



Series: Psychobabble [21]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Endings, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-28
Updated: 2009-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankyoldman/pseuds/venefica_aura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veld in the woods, looking for a myth. Life is more than just being alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying

"She heals the sick."

 

He frowned. "Yes, I know. With a spring and all that."

 

The young woman smiled. "Oh no, not her. The woman in the woods. But only when you're ready, see. That's the myth."

 

"Like some guide for the dead?"

 

"I told you, she _heals_ them. And the wounded."

 

\---

 

It was him and a small campfire and him and his own voice now. Despite getting the kid thrown out of his house, he'd finally had the chance to... apologize. For not coming back. He'd been held up by the one thing that he'd done right in all this time. Maybe, maybe he could have prevented it in the first place, but really what bothered him was that he never got the chance to come back in time. When he got there the coffin was empty, the door unlocked and the combination lock broken.

 

He had to be sixty by now. Probably a little older. What was it they said about age? Something about wisdom.

 

Well, he didn't feel any wiser. Only more foolish. Sitting outside in the dead of night in some woods that he'd heard a _myth_ about. He didn't qualify as the sick or the wounded, though. She probably only bothered with them. Why was he here?

 

He needed to apologize to her too.

 

A twig snapped and his hand went to his side. No, he didn't bring any of that out here. Just a knife, but that's what survivalists used in the woods. He wondered how long he would last outside of cities and organizations and order. He supposed that it wouldn't be for long, since he'd been tainted by pavement, machines, fast cars. The last time he'd slept on the ground he was too young for a beard.

 

He slept well, though.

 

\---

 

When someone didn't have any desire to go anywhere, they made due with what they had on hand. It took a while to recall what he'd learned in the Infantry about wilderness survival, but some things came almost naturally. Necessity was finding a way to replace the empty rations with something edible; even if hunting seemed near impossible in woods like these. The animals were just smart enough to stay away from him, and the ones that didn't weren't really animals so much as monsters.

 

Enjoying the coolness of the shade and the freshness of the air made him realize he wasn't entirely a city person. The three hours it took him to find some berries that could very well be poisonous had proven he wasn't particularly a country person either.

 

It figured that he was always halfway between both.

 

"I'm not dividing my loyalties. I'll wait out here if it kills me." He knew that he was talking to himself. He always seemed to talk to himself these days.

 

Not that he was complaining. The few conversations he had with other people were either goodbyes or apologies.

 

"Only got one left anyway."

 

He decided not to hazard the berries. Veld was not the type to die by food poisoning.

 

\---

 

It _stung._

 

If there was ever a time he wished for materia, then it would have been now. The foolishness of old men was that they forgot the strength of their youth couldn't always be with them. Not that he was weak, but he'd lost a bit of the flexibility he'd taken for granted.

 

His back in particular took the brunt of the fall, and his arm. The gash on his arm was staining the tan of his shirt and it _stung_.

 

Veld cursed at his stupid old man stubborness and made as good a bandage as he could managed. He really wished for a second pair of hands.

 

Still no sign of anyone, but he had finally figured out how to best get food. He never camped anywhere long, because there were still monsters.

 

He had to admit, this was a better decision than any of the alternatives he'd thought of. At least Felcia--or Elfe, however the hell someone was supposed to say that--wouldn't scream and throw tantrums at him anymore.

 

The irony of his children, the real and claimed ones, becoming terrorists was not lost on him. He'd had his rebellion too, though brief. Wars tended to make issues more grim.

 

He gritted his teeth. Maybe he would just rest here for a while.

 

\---

 

"You stupid, stubborn man."

 

Clearly, he was going insane. That woman was dead.

 

"I suppose you simply forgot to bring any sort of medical supplies?"

 

Yes, full-on hallucination. He'd been here long enough to develop a full beard and he'd almost have to tie his hair back now. Veld realized that this must have been what it was like to be a hermit.

 

"Verdot Michael Dragoon, are you _listening_?"

 

As Tally was the only person that knew his full name, that he recalled, he realized that this hallucination probably revealed issues he wasn't aware of.

 

"I'm not supposed to talk to my delusions," he replied, shifting a little against the tree. _Shit_, he'd strained something. Sleeping against the trunk had most certainly not helped.

 

Of course, that was when he realized his hallucination was touching his arm and wasn't likely such a hallucination.

 

"You don't remember the myth, do you?" Ifalna wasn't talking with such an annoyed tone like she was previously.

 

"Myth... oh right, that thing. So it is you."

 

"Yes, it's me. Was the injury intentional, then?"

 

"Not in the slightest. I'd have much preferred running into you while I was still all in working order."

 

She shook her head as she let go of his arm to pull something out of her pocket. He imagined a star would look like what she had in her hand. A tiny star.

 

He wouldn't typically worry about his appearance as anything but a professional thing, but he suddenly felt very, very scruffy.

 

She was quiet for a while as she worked. He saw her eyes dart to the other arm. She must have known about that. Veld wondered if maybe she'd been around him more than he'd thought, in the little place between sleep and the morning that he'd read in a book somewhere.

 

Her wrist certainly felt real and solid, as he caught it with the hand on his newly patched up arm. It made her look him in the eye.

 

"I wanted to talk to you."

 

"What about." The statement, not question, wasn't cold, nor was it warm. Just... weary.

 

"I wanted to say you were right." _Sorry_ didn't cut it with her. That was what he told the kid as they in the bar--the eternal doghouse for men whose girlfriends weren't on speaking terms with them.

 

"...So were you."

 

That was puzzling. What in the name of Alexander had he done right at all? Being alone in the woods really made it clear, made it so pointedly clear that he in fact knew _nothing_.

 

He supposed that if this were a movie, he would say that he loved her. But this was an old man and a ghost and he didn't want her to dissappear.

 

But she--unlike Valentine who was all dry wit and straight faces--she smiled.

 

"You don't want to be alone out here, do you." Again, not a question. Ifalna and her getting under people's skin quality... well, it had worked.

 

"Life is more than just being alive, isn't it?"

 

It had never been about forgiveness, like some people. For Veld, it had always been getting back to the one place he felt safe. The one moment. When worry and will power ceased to drive him slowly mad.

 

"You..." her voice cracked a little, but she composed herself, "Follow."

 

They would have plenty of time to talk about everything else.


End file.
